Valentine's Day

Alec Merceau

May 12th, 2011

“And they believe in magic!” Aisha says, her snort filled laugh fills the line loud enough that I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Like, for real, they actually think their powers are magic!”

Her giggles start up again and I use the moment to lace up my shoes, holding the phone flush to my ear with my chin and shoulder.

“How do you know that?” I ask, double knotting my left boot. “Do they write it down or—”

“No, that’s the best part!” Again, Aisha’s voice comes in way too loud but I don’t have the energy to turn her volume down. “They like, have discussions and shit, like, they sit around all day and talk about—” she clears her throat, trying to put on both a snobbish and New Yorker accent at the same time “The unknown but certainly thaumaturgical practices of the unenlightened and—”

She’s barely half a sentence into her impression but already her giggles are taking over. These ones go on for long enough that I can put my other boot on, lace it up, and double knot it before she slowly wheezes back to normal.

“I’m telling you—” she says and I can’t faintly picture her shaking her head as she speaks, “These nutjobs are the most fun people I’ve ever spied on.”

“Sounds like it,” I agree, leaning back on my bed and closing my eyes, just letting myself have this conversation. For a group so shrouded in mystery, you’d think The Adepts of New York would be… less lame.

That might be mean given I’ve never met them personally but Lisa’s foreboding briefing last February made me think kinda highly of the New York group. The Adepts are a group of fifteen Parahumans based in Staten Island, they don’t hold any real territory in the city, but they do have a few properties they siphon cash out of.

They’re no one to sneeze at, most of them probably wouldn’t give us that much trouble but the top tier of their group does a damn good job of scaring away The Elite and the New York cell of the Teeth. I can’t remember their names for the life of me but I think the top dogs there are two Brutes, two Shakers, and one Breaker.

“Do you think they’re gonna be a problem?” I ask and Aisha snorts.

“Doubt it, I left their club a few nights ago and all they were talking about was potential recruits and shit like that, more people to bring to their cause or whatever the fuck.”

I hum, Lisa’s not usually wrong these days, if she thought The Adepts were coming here, Aisha should’ve found something.

“Were any of the…” I roll my eyes, finding it ridiculous to use official lingo for such a stupid group. “Recruits supposed to be from here?”

Aisha hums a no, probably munching on something before she swallows.

“Nah, they talked about going up to Unica for some guy but they didn’t say anything about out of state.” She rattles off the answer with a bored tone but something bright speeds up on her tongue as she continues, “But I did find something!”

Knowing that tone translates to, ‘what I found is completely meaningless but I think it’s hilarious’, I snort before indulging her.

“And what exactly was that?” I ask just as my phone buzzes in my hand. I pull it away and punch in my password as Aisha just barely contains her snickers.

The notification I see forces a genuine, surprised cackle past my lips. I can’t fucking believe this, I just, what—

“I know!” Aisha agrees, her voice hoarse in silent laughter, “I nearly revealed myself then and there man!”

I don’t reply, I can’t reply. This… holy fucking shit this makes for some good blackmail. There, on my screen and what looks hanging above a fireplace in the living room of some upscale apartment, is a framed poster of Myrddin, his signature proudly flared at the bottom.

My cackles get so severe I need to close my eyes, if I expose myself to any more of this stupidity, I’ll faint. Unfortunately, I tempt fate and force myself to open my eyes, and with a zoom of my fingers, I see that Myrddin didn’t just sign it.

“T-to—” Aisha reads the message out loud to me, her own mirth making the quote stuttery “a f-fellow acolyte, may— may—” she sucks in a deep breath, “may the power within warm you!”

It’s so fucking cheesy and I’m reminded for the dozenth time that somehow Myrddin was rated the sexiest cape in The United States just three years ago.

“I swear,” Aisha says, the humor fading just a little bit, “Over half of these guys have a crush on him.”

I want to ask how, how the hell does a guy like him pull so fucking much? I mean, sure, he’s a very powerful cape, you don’t get to be head of the Chicago Protectorate otherwise but he talks like a larper and has a beard that goes down to his stomach!

“Go—” I cough past my laugh, the smile on my face relaxing, “Go figure I guess, of course the Magic capes have a thing for the wizard.”

Aisha just wheezes at my remark and I let myself fall back to the sheets in a job well done. The feeling in my chest reminds of a barrel fire, something faint but roaring and warm. The warmth isn’t all consuming though, it’s like… it’s warm but it’s not enough.

The smile on my face wanes and I have to pretend it’s still there if I want this conversation to stay amicable. Aisha will hear if it goes away too suddenly and I really don’t have the energy to deal with the shit that’ll bring.

Still, though she prides herself at being one of the few Undersiders that can read me, she’s not absolute. All it takes is a bit more effort on my part and she won’t notice a thing.

“Ah…” her laugh breaks into a satisfied exhale but the smack of her lips tells me she’s annoyed, “I’m gonna have to tell Lisa all this shit tonight and she’s not gonna let me have any fun with it. She’s so smug too, ‘Aisha, just get to the point, Aisha, I don’t need to hear this, AIsha, a know-it-all like me just wants the bare facts.”

I can almost hear the pout in her voice, the Stranger on the other end of the line has taken to her new job like a frog to water but damn if she doesn’t hate a lot of it. To be honest the city’s been too quiet without her around, I know Blasto was just doing his Tinker thing when he got his beasts to sniff Imp out but he didn’t have to do it so publicly.

Without a plausible excuse for the public, we had to make a tough choice for her. I can’t remember when exactly but I think somewhere in February it was decided Aisha would be more useful as a spy.

Since then she’s been bouncing around Boston, Philadelphia, New York, basically all the cities around us that might want a bite at us. I can understand how a job like that can make you antsy, never seen, never heard except when reporting in, it’s gotta be awful. But still…

“Lay off her,” I defend Lisa, sitting up a bit in my bed. “She’s got a lot of shit to deal with right now, things are good here but we’re not exactly work free.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She tries to brush me off but an awkward silence follows all the same. I’m actually glad I can’t see her right now, for a girl with powers like hers, she always looks up to check if I’m looking at her.

Aisha and I’s relationship can best be described as… awkward. If you talked to her about it, she’d probably say something about how it was a failed romance, how we got along like a house fire and there might’ve been something more that we just never explored. That’s what she would say but honestly, it was just a really, really awkward crush.

I mean, I was flattered… I guess? But it was not a fun time when she joined the team, I mean, we had fun, we joked, we laughed, we did things that friends do but whenever she pushed for more, I always found a way to duck out of it.

I don’t know why I didn’t reject her straight up, I very much didn’t and still don’t have any feelings towards her but for some reason I just couldn’t get myself to say it outright. 

And of course, just as we were finally getting out of that phase, Behemoth himself decides to throw a monkey wrench at us. Aisha followed me around like a duckling for weeks, an invisible shadow that somehow always made it easy for me to find food, or money, or drink in my hand whenever I needed it.

It was a convenient time when I couldn’t remember her but everytime I could I remember being… I don’t know what you call it exactly but it wasn’t a nice feeling. The worst part was why she did it, the glass transparency to her motivations.

She felt guilty, guilty about the scars that run up my arm, guilty that I spent a week or so comatose, guilty that I very nearly gave up my life for hers. 

That phase actually needed me to confront her, to order her as a superior not to use her powers. I did what I did because I was her friend, not because I expected endless paybacks for all time.

It took time to get out of that funk but by last Christmas, we were actually getting along, no awkward looks, no awkward flirtiness, just a good time with stale gingerbread and peppermint flavored everything.

“Sorry,” she finally says after maybe fifteen or so seconds. I’m about to tell her it’s fine when I make the dumb decision to stretch my leg out. An immediate and overwhelming Charlie Horse lights up my calf and I can’t the wince out of my voice as I suck the words back in. For a second, there’s more silence, enough that I think I’m okay when— “What was that?”

God Damnit.

“Nothin,” I answer, reaching down to massage the aching muscles, “Just a cramp is all.”

For the second time in two minutes I cringe, what the fuck did I just say? I have to be running on fumes, why the fuck did I—

“A cramp?” Aisha asks, all mirth and awkwardness dropped to make room for the concern. “Like, from your powers?”

On reflex, I stay silent, wincing for a third time when I realize that technique doesn’t work on smarter people. She’s gonna see right through it and—

“Alec,” she sighs, “Is my brother really riding you that hard? You said Ubermensch was a pain to map out, I saw your whole arm screw up when you barely got a pinkie toe done.”

“It’s fine,” I reply, “The shit needed to be done and—”

“It’s not fuckin fine!” She cuts me off, the yell sort’ve petering into a less serious whine but mostly staying in the no nonsense octave. “You’re hurt alright, I know the cramps only kick in when you push yourself… look, if you need me to talk with Brian—”

Like a flashbulb, any frustration I might’ve had flips into a white hot buzz, something shaky in its intensity. 

“No!” I cut her off, my voice loud enough that I can faintly hear the glass on my nightstand shake. “No,” I continue, much softer. “Look, you don’t need to do that, it’s fine. I’m… okay, I went a little overboard last night but I’ve got him now. Okay? He’s mine.”

Knowing well enough that she needs to back off, AIsha disengages and I’m sure if she were here, she’d be walking backwards with her hands raised. The girl’s a visual talker like that, always making some kind of action or gesture to coincide with her words.

She whistles lowly before she speaks.

“No shit?” she asks, “Didn’t you say it would take like, till August to get that guy up and running?”

Her words make me lean back as I replay the vague memories in my head. I sort’ve remember bringing that up in November… shit, was I really that fucking lazy?

“Yeah…” I answer, unsure which tone to tack on to my words, “But the schedule’s moved up a bit, we’ve actually got a fight scheduled later today.”

Aisha snorts and I can’t help but echo her.

“It’s still weird we’re scheduling fights,” Aisha says, “Like, am I the only one that misses the days when fights just happened?”

“Yes,” I answer, shaking my head. “This system works better anyway.”

“It’s cleaner,” she agrees but she immediately pokes at a con. “But doesn’t it feel a bit… I don’t know—”

“Disingenuous?” I provide and can just barely hear her snap her fingers before she keeps going.

“That’s it, this whole thing, scheduling fights, fucking planning the punches, it all seems fake.”

“That’s cause it is,” I tell her, “But the people out there don’t know that.” 

Even arguing my side, I’ll admit, Aisha does have a point. Planning the fights, rigging them like we have been, it feels so damn different from any other part of my career. The closest thing I can relate it to is the shit I did in Montreal, hijacking drunk aristocrats, making them lie to their families, making them write notes and hang ropes.

Actually, the more I think about it, that’s exactly what it is. A performance.

We go out there, we ‘fight’, we make it look bloody and chaotic, make people think the Protectorate matters and that The Undersiders are just the right amount of big. Not big enough that people are ringing the alarms and calling for our heads but not small enough that some of the bigger fucks become interested.

It’s a balancing act, one that we’ve become damn good at since the new Director came to us, doing an admirable job at pretending he was anything more than a check collector.

It was funny actually, Director Winthrop, some war hero in the nineties according to his wikipedia, a real All-American. The kind of guy who takes no prisoners and suffers no fools, a real man’s man. According to the PRT that is.

According to Lisa on the other hand, he was a senator’s son that skinned his knee overseas and came back early to receive a medal that should’ve hung around his dead platoon. I guess Costa-Brown decided enough was enough, the Bay had already seen three directors in one year and she was sick of offering resources.

Winthrop wanted peace and all it took was a lot of NDA’s and a few new jobs in the PR department.

“Besides,” I continue after a moment, “We’re not the only city in the US that does this shit.”

“Really? Where else? Doubt it’s anywhere interesting.”

“You got that right,” I snort, “Gary, Indiana.”

Aisha gags and I agree with her sentiment. Gary, Indiana, the city of the KKKapes, racist capital of the midwest and literally run by White Hoods.

“Yeah, not great company.” I agree as I examine my cuticles. “But Lisa thinks the list is gonna get shorter here in a year or two.”

“How does she figure that?” Aisha asks, genuine curiosity in her tone before she adds on: “Oh, let me guess, she pulls the answer out of her ass?” 

“Well,” I start, ignoring her jab, “According to the ThinkTank files, which they now just give her apparently, PRT and Protectorate give Gary low odds of getting any bigger anytime soon. In fact, the projections have them dying out.”

“Yeah but why?” Aisha asks again, “I’d like more sources than ‘trust me, my girlfriend said so’”

The words she uses makes my whole mouth dry up like a desert, my tongue turns into a sandpaper log and I swear I can feel my throat pucker into a withered husk at the tone she uses. A dry, emotionless monotone, a clear impression of me.

Silence reigns for a good ten seconds as Aisha’s giggles slowly peter into something more awkward. I don’t reply until I can hear her clear her throat, apology on the tip of her tongue when I cut her off.

“Well…” I trail off, trying to keep the breathlessness out of my voice. “As it turns out, a bunch of people dumb enough to hate people without meeting them aren’t a great crew to run a whole city. They’ve survived off the donations of people even dumber than them and the businessmen that stand to benefit from their policies, but that’s not working anymore.”

“Why… uh,” Aisha’s not over the silence quite yet and she coughs behind her lips before she continues. “Why’s that?”

“Well, the Empire served as a heart for a lot of the racist gangs in the US, they’d get money and capes from the Gesselschaft and in exchange the actual Nazi’s would have more people under their banner.”

“And without the heart—”

“Yep,” I take over, “The rest of the body dies, The Gesselschaft tried to serve as a defibrillator but after losing Ubermensch and one of their Norns, they decided to call it quits for America. Those morons in the midwest are already dead, they just don’t know it yet.”

“That’s good to hear,” Aisha doesn’t sound happy though, in fact, I bet she’s biting her lip, remembering which Undersider comes from Gary no doubt. “So… uh…” here it comes, “How’s Cassie doing?”

Bingo.

I can’t help but snort and Aisha sputters over the mic as I fail to keep the mirth inside. Ever since she and I ‘broke up’ (again, her words, not mine), Aisha found an unlikely friendship in our former enemy, Cassie Herren.

A friendship that quickly evolved into a poorly hidden romance.

I’ll admit. I was concerned at first, we all were back then, I mean, a black girl getting along with an out Nazi sounds like the set up for a bad joke but Cassie’s a very different girl than her old persona would lead you to believe.

For one, I expected Rune to be like her teammates when the identities got leaked, that is to say, I expected her to be even more brazen with her racism and hate. The pattern held for everyone else, Othalla, Hookwolf, Krieg, all those bastards took the masks coming off as an excuse to go out there and be even worse than before.

And while Rune did what she was told then, flew around and smashed whoever Victor pointed her at, all Cassie Herren did was try to scrub her name off the internet, particularly on some websites she’d rather not be associated with.

Things were hectic that week and though a lot of shit was thrown around on PHO, none of the actual participants or victims had a free moment to look at what the internet had dredged up. No, it wasn’t until a few days after Leviathan that Victor started to look around.

And what he found really pissed him off. The skill vampire didn’t take kindly to the fact his adopted daughter had a taste for the fairer sex.

We weren’t Cassie’s first choice of Asylum but we were the only ones that could protect her immediately.

“Fuck off,” Aisha says, the only intelligible words I can make past my own snickers. “I just… is she okay?”

Her question puts a halt to my snickers and I realize that honestly, I don’t know if I can answer her. Things used to be a lot easier to navigate, back then we were growing faster than any other cape group in the Bay but the thing was we were all pretty close together.

Back then, I saw Cassie pretty much everyday, one of us always had to monitor her even given Lisa’s testimony that she was being legit. For someone who tries to be cold, Cassie wears her emotions on her sleeves and past the rudeness, knee-jerk programming, and fierce stutter, the girl is one of the easiest people I’ve ever read.

But that was then, nowadays Cassie works under Brian’s division and I… come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of the other Undersiders in a few months at least.

And before February, that was an easy fix too, if I wanted I could just text or call the reformed Nazi, but now… now I can’t do that. I mean, I could, her number’s still in my phone but I shouldn’t.

“Uh…” I finally open my mouth and I can’t get anything out. I run a hand through my hair and force the digits through the knots as I push the words out. “I… haven’t really talked to anyone outside of my sector.”

“Your sector?” Aisha asks, incredulousness taking over her tone.

“Yeah,” I double down, “My sector, in case you forgot, we’re not just a rag tag group anymore Aisha. We’re an organization, hundreds of members, maybe thousands if you count the businesses that don’t know they’re working for us.”

“Okay,” Aisha sighs, “Then who’s sector is she in?” 

“That would be…” I gulp, “That would be your brother’s I think.”

My answer makes the sigh turn into a groan, long and deep and annoyed, she keeps it going until she’s out of breath.

“C’mon, he’s not that—”

I pull the phone away from my ear as she groans again, maybe twice as loud.

“Aisha—”

“Ugh, I…” she exhales deeply, not quite a sigh or a groan though. “Is there any other way to get a hold of her, I really don’t want to talk to my brother right now.”

“Why can’t you just call her?” I ask, pointing out the most obvious solution.

“Cassie…” she trails of yet again but this time it peters into… sort’ve a hiss but there’s no heat behind it. “Cassie and I didn’t end our last call on a great note.”

That actually gets me to stand and I walk over to the window to get the energy out of my system.

“Oh,” I try to sound sympathetic, “Do you wanna—”

“No,” she cuts me off. “I really don’t. It’s just… she’s being… too nice, like when she first joined the team and I know something’s wrong and when I pushed for it last night… she took it the wrong way and… I just wanna know if she’s okay.”

“Well…” Fuck, I hate this. I can’t say I’ll talk to her, I can’t. Brian will see it as poaching one from his side of things, the same way Taylor thought that about Atlas and I… things are already so bad, I can’t make it worse, I can’t make it more worse, don’t they— doesn’t she understand? I have to work, I have to do it and…

Aisha’s plea isn’t the right kind of work, they’ll see it as a threat and—

“Alec…” her voice sounds so small, so light and full of desperation. “Please?”

And like when Rachel has a new pup, my will crumbles.

“Okay, I’ll try.” I tell her and the high pitched thank you I get in return is almost enough to settle the nerves in my stomach. Almost… but then there’s a knock on the door. I know that knock, it’s the dull flat of a fist hitting twice and the man doing it won’t wait for my permission to be let in.

I’ve got my back to it and without turning, I pull the phone away from my ear, hastily getting a goodbye out as I try to end the call. I don’t hear Aisha reply before I’ve hung up.

The door creaks open and I force myse;f to turn around, force myself to keep my hands out in the open, and I force myself to be quiet.

Brian walks in, already wearing all the pieces to his costume. He steps into the threshold slowly, his head surveying my room like an exterminator might look at a moldy basement. I try to ignore the obvious disgust in his posture, the fact that he wears his clothes like a hazmat suit.

My mind latches onto the actual costume and I take a moment to examine how little it’s changed in the past year. His helmet is still the same twisted bit of metal and plastic he got last May, the design clearly meant to look like a human skull. And his leathers can be found on the shelf of any motorcycle dealership in America, granted it might now be a higher end one.

No, the only real change is the battle damage.

He doesn’t keep it all obviously, just the big bits, just the bits that make people stare, make people realize what the man in front of them has gone through and that somehow he came out of it on the other side.

A deep gauge slices into the skull’s nose, the chop of Jack Slash’s cleaver against the metal, a white handprint along one elbow, the leather beneath it bleached white by the festering touch of Butcher XIV, the jangling chain from one pocket to the belt loop, the gleaming metal was once part of Bonesaw’s spiders.

Grue has been through it all and he’s still kicking. His costume is a monument to all he’s endured and I can’t help but feel… unworthy.

But even knowing that fact, I still can’t help but be in awe when the black pits of his mask turn to me. He raises a hand and points at something on the bed.

“Get your mask on,” he orders, “We’re leaving in half an hour.”

“Okay,” I reply quickly, too quickly judging by the sudden spring of his shoulders. Fuck, fuck, I’m being too complacent again, they’re going to see I want something again. It doesn’t matter, if I just keep my head bowed and my eyes away from his, it’ll look fine, like simple deference.

I’ve got some questions on the fight obviously but I know better not to ask them, I’ve got the broad strokes well enough from eavesdropping. I grab for my mask and put it on hastily, trying to ignore the way it feels against my skin as I turn to face my housemate. I don’t know why I look at him, maybe it’s some childish ‘see, I did what you said’ instinct but regardless, the broad shouldered man doesn’t leave.

Instead, he tilts his head up, looking down his nose at me and I feel like an ant beneath a giant’s eyes, he clears his throat and that feeling gets so much worse as resettles his stance. He wants to talk to me.

The thought fills me with something I can never name, something like static and sinking and melting and dissolving. I don’t force myself to stand my ground, it’s just that my legs refuse to move, everything refuses to move as Brian finally speaks up.

He takes a deep breath first, the kind of breath someone takes before sinking into dirty water.

“I don’t know how to say it so I’ll just say it,” he starts, crossing his arms as lays out his order. “I don’t want you talking to my sister anymore.”

Oh.

The words don’t sting as much as they probably should, I mean, it’s awful obviously, like someone is trying to remove a rib with their bare hands but… it’s also somehow relieving? Like, is that it?

Some of the dissolving is washed away, leaving a scorch in my stomach but the relief of it no longer eating me soothes that pain. It’s still terrible, it still hurts but if that’s all—

No, I can’t go along with it right away, they’ll see something in it. It would be too weird if I just went along with it, I have to… fuck, I have to try.

“Why?” I ask, putting just enough steel in my voice to be confrontational. “She’s my—”

“I’m—” he cuts me off and the voice he uses to continue forces me back against the bed, my knees bending backwards on the edge of it. “Not okay with you talking to her.”

The darkness in his helmet leaks out around the vents of his teeth, thick impenetrable smog falls to the floor, looking like clouds of ink expelled from a squid. His voice echoes in on itself, sounding louder and harsher with each fading loop. I force myself to push down a gulp, this… probably isn’t enough of a protest.

“She’s my friend, okay? Shit’s finally easier for her and she wants to—”

“She doesn’t know what she wants!” He shouts, stepping closer and nearly making me fall back to the blankets below. “She doesn’t know who you are Alec, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t—” he sighs and it sounds like the sky is falling. “This is not up for debate, you understand?”

That’s probably enough.

I put my hands up and I don’t even need to fake the tremble in them as I nod.

“Okay,” I say, my fingers almost hit the spokes of my crown as I run them through my hair, the knots in there tear a bit as I nod my head. “Okay, if that’s what you think is best then… fine. I’ll block her number right now if you want.”

And for the first time in two months, Brian nods his head at my suggestion, agreeing with me as I reach into my pocket. I put in my pass code and try to ignore his eyes, try to ignore how great his memory is, and how he definitely memorizes the password.

And I definitely try not to think about my lockscreen, about the picture we took last Halloween, all dressed like the old Wards. The memory is put away as I get into my phone, with a few more taps of my thumb, I’m on my contacts list and clicking on Aisha’s name.

…something cold and sharp strikes at me when I look at the name, at the little purple devil next to it. The last push of my thumb is noticeably slower than the rest but Brian doesn’t comment on it as my phone informs me that I will no longer receive texts or calls from my best friend.

That cold sharpness makes itself known a hundred fold and I realize it was never stabbing at me before now, before, it felt cold and sharp but that was just it… being there, like a barrel of radioactive waste.

Now it’s here, now it’s actually in my chest, like an icicle plucking on my nerves like harp strings. The feeling somehow brings a physical pain to it, my chest feels like it’s gonna implode and everything sounds like it’s underwater as Brian steps away from me.

I look up at him, grateful my mask hides my open mouth as I struggle to catch my breath. He’s nodding to himself like an older brother should, like a guy who’s proud he’s defending his family. I shakily put my phone back into my pocket and the pain in my chest gets worse as Brian turns around.

“Good—” He says over his shoulder, the smog finally stops falling. “I won’t let her get anymore involved with you.”

And like a lightswitch, the second he leaves my line of sight, the coldness inside of me starts to warm. I tilt my head at the feeling, unsure what it’s doing as the heat steadily climbs higher and higher.

I stand up tall and I feel the heat soothe the aches inside of me, the warmth it brings is violently hot, red and buzzing and somehow tall. The feeling makes my legs walk, makes me follow after him even though he’s still able to see and hear me.

It feels good when he looks over his shoulder as we walk down the hall together, it feels good that he quickens his pace a bit. We’re both downstairs right after each other and while he heads for the kitchen where the others probably are, I shout that I’m going to collect my things.

None of them acknowledge me and that heat in my chest throbs at the lack of response, they think they can just fucking push me off, don’t they? They think they can fucking order me around like I’m fucking Alexi or Trevor?!

I hit the elevator button with my fist as my thoughts continue to run a mile a minute.

I’m not some tertiary member goddamnit, I’m fucking Regent. I was one of the original four, I was the one who kept cops shooting their feet when we ran off, I’m the one who got Taylor’s bully to fuck off to the west coast, I fucking saved Brian with Shatterbird and this is the goddamn—

The doors close, leaving me in a cool metal box.

The… fire in my chest doesn’t calm down but my thoughts stop acting as tinder for it. The heat smolders without my attention, still raging, still consuming and it feels like… it feels great actually. I lift my head up as the heat gains direction.

The smolder comes from my pocket and my hand snakes down to it subconsciously. The plastic that touches my fingers fills me with an idea.

I could take it out right now, open up my contacts list and unblock her number with no one the wiser. Who gives a shit if I do it? She’s her own person, she can talk to me if she wants and I’m not gonna fucking stop her.

They don’t own her, they don’t own me! I actually start to pull the device out of my tailored pants when the doors ding open. I let the phone fall back to its spot, I’ll do it later.

The floor I’m greeted to is the same as always, if we needed the space we could probably convert it to a sizable infirmary. But with the former Panacea on our team, there’s no point for this place to be anything other than it is, a sanitized cell for the single most dangerous cape in the Bay.

The small waiting room is tense as I head for the twin doors opposite the elevator. There’s maybe three times as many guards here today than I’ve ever seen and all of their fingers twitch to be put back on the trigger. 

I roll my eyes beneath my mask as I pass them, what the hell do they expect those toys to do against a guy like Ubermensch? They might as well being blowing bubbles at him. A few of the older guards salute me as I pass and part of me wants to tell them to fuck off, these idiots would be the first to die if he got free.

The doors I walk through are different this time around, he was moved last night to fit him into his new accommodations and I take a moment to examine him and his new bindings.

One whole wall is done up with metal, titanium rings and bands interlock around each other, huge columns of the alloy rise up out of the floor, all of it bolstering the design meant to hold one man back. Ubermensch stands in the middle, his arms raised up like a crucifix and his head bowed, still asleep.

Most of him is buried under the restraints, with only his head and part of his torso exposed to the rest of the room. For some reason I find it funny, this room, his room, looks like the most uncomfortable place in the world but it definitely cost the most, probably half a million dollars in heavy metal and machinery.

We’ve kept him on a pretty steady drip of tranquilizer this past year but shit can always go wrong. If I’m not here and he misses a dose, he’ll kill everyone in this building and be in the wind long before we can catch him.

So this is what we came up with, the best coffin money can buy.

A nurse stands to his left, the surgical tubing of Ubermensch’s IV in her grip and the actual fluid bag locked behind a panel. Her hands are shaking as she looks at me, shoulders jumping when the doors behind me slowly close.

“U-um,” she stutters, her voice an annoying falsetto not helped by her fear, “Mr… Regent, sir, are you sure about this?”

“Hurry the fuck up,” I order, rolling my eyes as I step backwards, eyeing the button on the side of the door. “We don’t pay you idiots to question us.”

The nurse nods, barely able to keep her legs steady as she slides her hand up the IV drip. Once she’s got her hand on the injection site, she hastily brings a needle to the opening and pushes down on the plunger of it as much as she can.

The drug’s start their magic immediately and the giant of a man in front of me starts to stir for the first time in seven months. His eyes creak open, the bright blue of them are a perfect example of what his regime desires even though the red hair hardly matches.

They glaze over the room like a drunk snail, examining the floor, ceiling, and walls before they finally focus on me.

To the Nazi’s credit, the sight of me immediately lights a fire under his ass and his eyes immediately bolt open into awareness as he lunges. Or, as he tries to lunge. The restraints don’t even creak as they hold him steady. They better, all the shit holding him down wasn’t cheap. 

His hands and feet are locked in a dense gel, some kind of shock absorber the military uses for aircrafts, his waist is secured in a vice meant to hold slabs of steel in place when industrial hammers bend them down, his joints are all bent in the most awkward way possible, all to keep him from any leverage.

Everything holds tight and he realizes that after only a minute or so of wild thrashing. Spittle flies from his lips like a rabid dog and his eyes burn with a fury belonging to the insane, he’s so pissed he can’t even string two words together.

“Fich dich!” He finally settles on and I decide to start whipping this dog into line. With a languid step back, I slam the big red button by the door.

The effect isn’t as immediate or dramatic as I want it to be, but sure enough, his restraints start to slip back, bit by bit.

The band around his neck retracts into the wall with a snap as something around his arms does the same. He looks at each limb as he slowly starts to regain feeling in them, not quite able to move them just yet.

The whole process takes a minute or so and the guards in the room don’t stop shaking the whole time, their security blankets clink together in their grips, the useless sights against their cheeks as if any one spot on Ubermensch is any less invulnerable than the rest of him.

Eventually, the metal obscuring his form falls away, leaving the giant of a man to fall onto his knees in front of me, He doesn’t grab for me immediately, instead he takes a deep breath first, clenches his unused knuckles until they pop and with the slightest tilt of his head—

The floor beneath cracks like ice, the long jagged lines in the floor almost reach my feet as he kicks off the tiles.

His right hand is fixed in a claw, the digits swearing to slice through me like metal in a hurricane, Only, those unyielding fingers never reach me. To his shock and the guard’s relief, the Brute 9’s fingers stop just short of grazing my mask.

I pretend not to notice him, idly wiping a shoulder clean as Ubermensch’s eyes stare at his traitorous hand. He tries to push his hand forward, leaning on one foot and forcing all of his weight on that arm.

The veins in his bicep flare as he tries his damndest to move his hand the one inch he needs to crush my skull. When that doesn’t work, I tilt my head to the side as he then tries to pull backwards, leaning on the balls of his feet in a vain attempt to get himself free.

That plan works as well as the first and slowly, the decrepit probably unused gears behind his eyes start to turn. In that same instant conscious thought tries to bubble up, he does his best to snuff it out, swiping at me with his other hand.

That one I don’t let move more than a few inches, stopping it cold just as his arm starts to bend. With both hands frozen in mid air, the muscles in his forearms seemingly locked by an invisible trap, his eyes go wide.

He’s just noticed the same spell has happened to his feet.

His calves flex and his knees bend but just like his hands, they don’t move in the slightest.

I find it hard to believe anyone could be this stupid, that anyone wouldn’t have already realized their fate by now. But the dumbass in front of me keeps breaking my expectations.

He thrashes and flails even as more and more of him slowly falls out of control, the stillness creeping up his limbs like a body sliding off driftwood. It’s a useless fight and after only ten or so seconds, he falls to his knees before me, his knuckles on the floor as he tries to keep cursing, actually lifting his chin up like he can keep it above water.

And even that minor struggle slowly fades, his jaw snapping closed like a bear trap and jaw unclenching under my dominion. Only his eyes are under his control and they shake and dart like a rat in a cage, his own body becoming the prison.

I slowly crouch and lean forward until my masked face is level with his own, my black eyes staring into his silently. Slowly, I reach a hand up and poke the furthest right spoke of my crown, at the green and white twine that encircles the black spire.

“Do you know what this is?” I ask him, the tip of my index finger pressing into it harsh enough to leave a mark on my skin.

“No,” I make him say, and his eyes, so bright with hate, start to tremble with something else. “What is it?”

The muscle memory of his lips and tongue feel awkward to my power and I’m not quite able to make it sound wholly american, instead it comes out as ‘vat ist it?’

“Well…” I say, tilting my head, “It means a lot, it means that your invulnerability isn’t as invulnerable as you want everyone to think.”

I poke him on the nose to punctuate my statement.

“All those nerves, like strings of concrete, strong but still vulnerable.” I stand up to my full height and pull him along with a hand on his chin. “It took months y’know? Weeks upon weeks, but at the end of it all?”

I look the A-class threat in the eyes as I force his arms up, grabbing at his own throat and forcing him to squeeze. 

Strictly speaking, I don’t need him to do this, I could just as easily get him to hold his breath but there’s something visceral about making him force his esophagus closed. The way his eyes start to turn red, the way his face gets purple, and the way his strangled cries start to get quieter and quieter.

He’s dying.

If I wanted, I could get him to squeeze a bit tighter, just enough that he could twist until the last snap came in. But I don’t.

I let his hands pull away from his skin, still close enough that he feels the ghost of his palm everytime he inhales a lungful of life. The hate in his eyes is all but extinguished as I speak.

“It means I own you.”

For an instant, I give him his mouth, letting everything from shoulders up belong to him. But despite his earlier aggression, no words leap out to protest my declaration, no haughty speech about the sanctity of the Aryan people.

Just silence, pure, overjoyed to be alive, silence.

I look away from my prisoner to the two guards, still shaking like leaves in the wind as I roll my eyes.

“Would someone get this guy some pants?”

My order gets both guards to move and I don’t bother to scold them when both take it as an opportunity to leave the room. I lean against the wall closest to the door and tap my foot as I get Ubermensch to stretch his muscles.

Somehow, probably through some cape shit, his muscles haven’t atrophied from little over half a year without use. The feel of them… I’ll be honest, it’s incredible.

No wonder this guy thought he could take us down, with power like his, I doubt anyone could stop themselves from being overconfident. I shake my head as I look away from him, the guy might be attractive to some but he’s a bit too freakishly gigantic for my tastes.

This guy could’ve done so much with his power, sure, people like the Blasphemies and Ash Beast might be outside his weight class but it’s a pretty small fucking list of problems he can’t solve. But no, the Nazi’s somehow got to him first, leading him around like an obedient elephant all around Europe.

The guards burst back into the room with parts of Ubermensch’s updated costume held in their arms. Guard 1 hands him his underwear and undershirt while guard 2 waits off to the side with slacks, a button up shirt, and dress shoes.

An awkward dressing later and Ubermensch and I are walking back to the elevator.

He stares at his new costume with naked hate, all of the anger and aggression trapped impotently behind his eyes even when his longer bangs fall in front of them. Seems like someone doesn’t like the new suit.

Honestly, I don’t know why he’s so pissed, it’s not like his old ‘uniform’ was anything to write home about. He came to Brockton in a pair of dark green slacks and a button shirt that could’ve been two sizes too small or could’ve just been the largest thing available without going to an upholsterer. 

The only real difference I’ve made to it is swapping out the green for black, giving his new apparel a sort’ve subdued aura. An aura that better matches his new standing if I’m being honest.

As the lead Nazi for Bavaria, Ubermensch didn’t wear a mask and so he doesn’t now. The only real difference to his face is where before it was clean shaven and buzzed, it’s now long and unkempt. I don’t think I’ll ever let him shave it, just because I know it’s driving him mad.

Well, that and we don’t have whatever tinker BS let him shave in the first place.

The anger he held onto earlier is starting to build again, like someone throwing whole tree trunks onto a bonfire. It’s soothing in its familiarity, it’s the exact same kind of hate Shatterbird used to give me every moment of every day.

I have him push the button for us, if Ubermensch is going to be mine… indefinitely, then he needs to understand how things work around here. I’ll have him by my side for the next few weeks or so, getting me drinks, cleaning the penthouse, little humiliating things like that to break him down bit by bit.

It’ll take me a while but I can’t imagine it will take more than what Shatterbird took. According to the cameras in her cell, the caged psychopath hasn’t looked for an escape route in months. Of course, that might just be for the lack of options, without silicon, pretty much any non-Brute could beat her to death with relative ease.

“What do you think, big guy?” I ask Ubermensch as we start to descend, feeling a grin start to form under the ceramic of my mask.

I force air through his lips, making them flap like a horse as he slouches, the whole posture meant to look as undignified as possible.

“Hmmmm,” he hums, feigning thought before he starts to click his tongue, making the tick tick tick of a blinker. “Dunno boss, there’s not really a lot up here passing for brains.”

I nod as his anger rolls, turning my head away from his as his face turns red with rage.

“Aww,” I brush off the thought with a push of my hand, “C’mon man, you’re not that dumb are you?”

“Well jeez,” I can’t help the laugh I push up his throat, making him grin as he rolls his head, “I don’t know… I did try to fight… well, let’s see—” I have him bring up his hands and start counting under his breath— “Grue, Shatterbird, Skitter, Bitch, Glory Girl, Gallant, Imp, Parian, Foil, Chariot, Vex and—” he’s run out of finger, well, actually he ran out at Chariot but— “Wow boss, I really am stupid.”

I turn and pat his shoulder in sympathy as the doors open.

“It’s okay man,” I say, laying on the sympathy, “You’re not the only idiot, y’know? In fact, we’re about to meet someone much dumber.”

Taking off my mask, I head for the retinal scanner beside Shatterbird’s cell and with an electronic click, my other thrall’s room becomes open to us.

The queen of shattered glass, or as I’ve come to know her, the stuck up caged bitch, stands at attention beneath my power. I have her walk out and join us, still in her leisure robe that Lisa provided her for some reason.

The sight of the damn thing pisses me of, that my fucking roomate would give this bitch an accomadation before me, give the mass murdering psycho the slightest bit of comfort before—

I nearly make her sing, nearly make her break the glass of her TV just to piss her off… but I refrain. This gig isn’t just about making her angry, it’s about checks and balances. It’s like walking on a tightrope, it might seem impossible from the outside but there is such a thing as too firm with them.

“Morning birdie,” I greet as she keeps her eyes entirely on me. Not of her own choice of course, but as much she wants to look at the man in her periphery, I won’t let her. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I tilt my head to gesture to Ubermensch and only then do I let Shatterbird get a good look at her fellow prisoner. Her spine stiffens up with my command but it comes easier than normal, her own fear letting me pilot her reactions better. She’s absolutely terrified to be in the same room as the Brute, probably remembering just what exactly this man tried to do to her.

It wasn’t my plan to make her fly so low, but the dumbass behind me took it hook, line, and sinker. He leapt for her and just barely caught the edge of her costume when Chariot got the collar around his neck. 

The plan was simplicity itself, without the Norn, Ubermensch was as predictable as any backwoods racist. The memory almost puts a smile to my face, the way he swayed when the drugs were coursing through him, the way he teetered right before he fell, the party after… when Lisa fell asleep on top of me and me on top of Brian, the way—

I wipe the thoughts away and cough into my hand, trying to gain a semblance of clarity when I notice something. Shatterbird’s fear hasn’t waned, if anything, it’s just rising as she stares down the Gesellschaft muscle.

For a second, I’m confused, she’s neve been afraid of anyone if I recall right. She had some concerns about the Butcher and Echidna of course but that was almost a blip compared to the terror she’s feeling now.

I give her the tiniest control of her body, just to see what subconscious action she’ll lead with and what she does makes me swallow.

She crosses her legs.

I try not to gasp as I take control of her again. I take a small step towards her as I have Ubermensch close his eyes and plug his ears, humming ‘my country tis of thee’ as I whisper in my first thrall’s ear.

“Look,” I try to find the right words but when I come up short I just bulldoze in anyway, “I might hate you with every fiber of my being,” she flinches and I take no comfort in it. “But I’ll never do that, okay? Worse comes to worse, I’ll cut the guy’s dick off if he ever thinks of it.”

Despite the well of hate she has to have for me, Shatterb—- Ayesha Rahman nods of her own free will, relief chasing away the terror inside of her. With a deep breath, I let her have control of her mouth and though she hasn’t said anything to me, even when given the opportunity, the woman’s words practically tumble out of her.

“Thank you,”

Her thanks put an… odd feeling just behind my ribs. It’s cool for a second, almost soothing but… the texture of it is wrong. It’s slimy and sticky and I shouldn’t have it, even for the coolness it brings. I gulp, trying to swallow it down and feeling nothing change as I cough into my fist.

“Yeah, well… let’s get going.”

With a thought, I have Shatterbird open the crate laid into the wall. Shards of black and white glass lift out of it and she takes off her robe. As the three of us walk back to the elevator, Shatterbird’s costume forms around her, the multi-colored stained glass of her old attire replaced by the black and white of my dominion.

I’m about to have Ubermensch click the button up when my phone buzzes in my pocket. With a quick few taps of my thumb, I open it up to reveal a fresh text from Lisa.

“The Pharmacy on Ray White Road,” I read aloud, the doors clicking closed and waiting for an input.

The heat that was inside me moments ago starts to build up again, becoming white with intensity as the plastic of my phone creaks. That… that bitch.

A chuckle works its way out of my throat as I read the text again. A location, where the fight’s gonna be, but it’s so much more than that. It’s an order, a demand that I head there instead of go back up, that I shouldn’t taint my four roommates meeting with my fucking presence.

The feeling gains an edge as I press the button for the parking lot, the unused part of the basement that used to belong to the former lab technicians and scientists. 

That edge splits, becoming more, becoming sharper as the heat becomes molten, deep and almost physically stinging in its warmth. That feeling, the bit inside me that makes my arms restless and my knuckles itch, that feeling that makes me painfully aware of the heartbeat in my ears and the blood I can faintly taste. That feeling is the only thought, the only thing that makes me walk out of the parking lot, ignoring all the abandoned cars left over from the dead or fleeing.

Shatterbird flies us to the location and though I could use the time to get them to chat, to get them to know each other, to humiliate them with caricatures of their personality, I don’t see the fucking point. What does it matter anyway?

The finesse, the nuance, the expertise it takes to use my power well, what the fuck does any of that matter? Nothing. If the others could, they’d take it from me, give it to someone they can stand, who fucking cares if I’m half the Underisder’s power anyway right? 

No, that doesn’t fucking matter, saving their goddamn lives doesn’t fucking matter, the scars on my fucking body don’t fucking—!

I blink and find that we’ve made it.

Ray White Road was a shithole even before Leviathan dragged his scaly ass over it, the kind of place where not having bars on your windows was a fucking death sentence. And all the shit Brockton’s had to deal with hasn’t done this garbage fire of a street any favors.

On one side of the road is the pharmacy, a big fucking building probably twice the size of a residential one and on the other side is a bunch of rundown apartment complexes, two of which might be livable if you’re desperate, and one that I doubt even squatters would chance.

And guess who’s standing in front of that one?

Shatterbird lands the three of us right in front of him, his white lab coat fluttering in the slight breeze as he smokes a blunt about as big as his middle finger.

Blasto gives me a jaunty salute as I step off Shatterbird’s platform, his smudged goggles taking up the whole top half of his face. I used to think it was a stupid disguise but that was before I actually met Roy Andino in person, before my power told me that the bottom half of his face isn’t his. 

The fungal mask is nearly identical to human skin, even getting the slight imperfections and stubble that a normal man might have. The only weakness of it is the edges, the marks up and down his throat that shiver a second after his actual skin does.

“Hey Reg’” he greets before taking a drag.

“Sup,” I greet back, sending Ubermensch in first as me and Shatterbird wait on the stoop. Blasto doesn't even look at the monster of a Brute, he just leans his head up, probably savoring his shit as my newest thrall scans the room ahead.

Looks like I was right about the place being inhospitable, the roof has caved in entirely, with only some of the lobby left standing. Maybe a dozen or so of Blasto’s creatures wait in the corner, their odd appearance nearly makes Ubermensch flinch, especially when one of the mottled green… raptors, I think, tilts his head at him, eyes blinking vertically.

A few of them sniff at the air but without any of Blasto’s pheromone markers, they go back to staring blankly at the floor and walls. They’re not as still as a normal animal, something planty in them makes them sway and twitch like the petals of a flower, searching for something in the air that I can’t detect.

With the room clear, Shatterbird and I enter, with Blasto only a step behind us. SOmehow, the guy can take another drag without exhaling the first. This time he pulls nearly a third of it before he stops, still standing in the doorway before he lets the smoke out.

His breath comes out gray at first but within a few seconds of hitting the air, his smoke turns into an almost neon pink, somehow glowing just a tad even in the low light.

When I tilt my head down to stare at him, I find Blasto’s got his arms out wide. There’s a smirk on his lips as he bows, ashing the blunt as he speaks.

“Ya like that?” he asks, “Brand new strain I just got harvested this morning, think I’m gonna call it Absolem.”

“Like the caterpillar?” I ask, crossing my arms, “From Alice in Wonderland?”

My understanding of the reference wasn’t something he considered and he leans back up to his full height with a frown. 

“Huh,” he says, “Wouldn’t have taken you for a reader.”

I roll my eyes and have Ubermensch pull a loose slab of rubble over to me. My puppet dusts it off dutifully and I take the seat, a strange… almost clicking feeling clacks in my chest. It’s hard to describe but the closest example I can give is when you see two metal puzzle pieces fit together, the really well made one’s that turn the seam invisible.

“I’m not,” I answer, keeping to myself that I only know the fucking name from Taylor, from the reading sessions she helps Rachel with. My lackluster response takes the wind out of his sails but Blasto doesn’t let it stick for long as leans back a little, eyes fixed on the glowing purple trail his weed leaves in the air.

“Yeah, it’s a good name and the effect’s pretty fucking cool, ‘specially when you hotbox it, but it doesn’t really have the kick I prefer.” He sighs as he lets his arm hang. “But that’s what I get for adding the jellyfish DNA, shit mellows it out too much.”

I don’t really know what to say to that and I almost let the conversation stall as I look around the room, more specifically at the minions Blasto brought with him.

There’s about a half dozen little raptor things, their body almost the same as what you’d see in Jurassic Park save for their moldy green skin and frog-like eyes. The hair on their back thin at the edges like blades of grass and when one of them sticks its tongue out to lick the air, I see it’s segmented like a worm.

Behind them are three of Blasto’s… Tangles, I think they’re called? 

They’re seven foot tall somewhat humanoid monsters, their torso is a gnarled chunk of twisted roots and bark and their limbs are thick and winding lengths of vine, their head is a mixture of both, with a single bright green eye nested in the knots. I’ve seen them in action before, those fuckers are pretty fast and those vines can whip out to hold things down or fling themselves about like that Spider guy in New York.

They might be a bit more impressive where it not for the fact they’re so fucking thin. Seriously, from shoulder to shoulder, they’re barely eight inches or so in width, I can’t imagine it would take more than a single push to knock these guys on their asses.

But I guess the lack of muscle is made up by the trio behind them.

I don’t know if these guys need a name and I doubt whatever BS PHO has given them is worthy of the creations but fuck, I’d probably have trouble coming up with a good name too. The best way I can describe them is also the simplest, big ass four armed fucking gorilla things.

Just one of them looks like he could keep Hookwolf busy for a minute or two and for anything organic, that’s practically a fucking miracle. Their skin is mostly bark with some kind of green muscle poking through the cracks in the wood, their eyes are the same kind the raptors have but they’re… dimmer, less golden.

“Are you sure you’re okay with getting rid of these guys?” I ask, not looking away from them.

“Oh yeah,” Blasto agrees, taking a seat on the rundown receptionist desk in front of me, the top of his head nearly grazing the low ceiling. “The Tangles are cheap to make and the Raptors are a dime a dozen.”

“And the gorillas?”

“Those… well they used to be expensive but I’ve got a better lab now, plus—” I look over to him and follow his index finger to the one in the corner. “That’s the latest one, the other two? Dunno if you noticed but it’s a little ripe in here.”

At his words, I take a deep inhale. Just past the cotton candyish smell of his weed, I can just barely catch the stench of rotting flowers. Something must show in my thralls because Blasto nods at me.

“Yeah, made those guys last September, fore you and the others—” his voice dips into a subdued but thick italian accent, “made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He laughs to himself as takes another drag of his blunt. “Those guys are basically compost fuel and I don’t mind losing them, besides, that’s the whole point y’know? I go into the pharmacy, smash and grab shit and ‘oh no, The Undersiders! Quick, my disposable but expensive looking minions, cover my escape and die so people think it’s a loss without ever really noticing that the Pharmacy is way overstocked with shit it shouldn’t have.’”

“Overstocked?” I prod and Blasto tilts his head at me as he expels what little is left in his lungs.

“Didn’t your girlfriend tell you? A lot of old Medhall shit’s supposed to—” his words stunned me for a second and I stand up as I cut him off.

“Tattletale is not my girlfriend asshole, she—” 

“Not that girlfriend,” he says, “the other one, Skitter, y’know the scary bug girl that even creeps me out?”

Again I’m stunned and this time lasts long enough for him to try and just keep talking.

“She said that the PRT was getting a little annoyed with the overt delivery trucks so this was the next best thing. So I’ll go in, be a lot louder than I was back home, your boyfriend and girlfriends show up, we ‘fight’ for long enough to get a crowd, a few Wards and probably Assault come in and then bam just as it looks like my grassrila is gonna knock Timesnatch into next week, you’re new puppet pulps him and—”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Something… slippery warm tries to fill itself in my guts, sliding all over the place as my fucking face heats. That heat gets worse as Blasto stares me down, his fungal mask shivering, trying to keep the expression beneath hidden as my own fucking thralls feel amusement. “None of them are, okay? And Grue’s not either, not my boyfriend I mean.”

I stomp over to Blasto as I say that last bit, trying to drill it into his fucking head as I glare. The expression is probably ruined given he’s head and shoulders taller than me, even sitting on the desk.

He has the gall to blow another pink cloud in my face as he speaks.

“Okay, okay, jeez little dude.” He brings the blunt up to his lips when he pauses. “Try some of this, think it’ll calm you down.”

I eye the offered weed and though I’ll admit, the thought of toking up sounds really fucking nice, I’ve got to keep a cool head right now. The fact is, I’ve never took Ubermensch out into the field and getting stoned out of my head is probably a good way of fucking shit up.

With a raised hand, Blasto gets my message and takes the final drag before stomping the blunt cold against the desk’s edge. With the wet Tinker taking the opportunity to savor the last of his smoke, I go back to my impromptu seat and shake my head.

The plan Blasto laid out… it just feels so fucking bare bones compared to the shit we used to do. I thought that once we got more powerful, there’d only ever be more planning, not less of it. I mean, I guess this isn’t exactly a high stakes operation but fuck, the shit Blasto explains sounds like the plan you give to come up with a better plan.

There’s probably more to it… more that I wasn’t allowed to be in the room for.

The thought fills me with a chill, a cold waft of something that makes my bones ache with brittleness. The heat from earlier makes itself known again, chasing off most of the chill as I sit up straight. What little remains doesn’t matter, I’m gonna be fine.

I swallow a lump down my throat, looking for some kind of distraction when I decide to speak up.

“So… how’s Brockton?”

Blasto snorts at my question and I can’t blame him for it, I’m not the best at small talk but c’mon, what I just said was Taylor levels of awkward.

“Can’t complain,” he answers anyway, deciding to let my shitty segue lay where it is. “Not very scenic or fun in my opinion but it’s a lot safer than Boston.” He shakes his head, “Say what you will about Accord but at least that guy kept things in line, ever since his head got blown off, it feels like the Games everyday down there.”

The reminder of Boston’s horrific Games makes me lean forward.

“Really?” I ask and he nods, head turned away from me and a solemn look on his face.

“Yeah, I’m glad you guys offered me an out when you did,” he shakes his head as he tilts his eyes to the floor. “You’d think with only two gangs left standing that things would be easier but with the leftover Teeth shaking up with the Horsemen, the Chain Gang have had to get meaner just to survive. Odds were, The Chain Man himself was probably gonna come knocking and give a… different kinda deal I couldn’t refuse, the kind that probably mean a lot more broken bones.”

“Shit…” I try to commiserate and notice something odd, something I should’ve noticed when I walked in. “Where’s Rotten Apple?”

The reminder of his on again off again girlfriend makes the tinker in front of me… well, forgive the pun, but it makes him wilt. His shoulders slouch inward and his arms come up slightly to rest on his elbows.

“Uh…” He tries to start, “Me and Applesauce… we’re not in a great place right now.”

“Oh…” I trail off, fuck, I do not want to meddle in two relationships today.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” He reaches into his coat and pulls out something, I can’t make it out between his fingers but I think it’s a stress ball, something green sticks out of the top but the bits of it that slip through are a bright red. “I don’t know man, she’s… she’s better than me, always has been. She thinks I can do more, that I could… that if I wanted, really wanted, I could take a city by myself.”

The declaration takes me off guard. Blasto’s a helluva tinker, probably taken his speciality to the upper limits of what a Tinker can do but… the thought of one cape, even someone like him, taking over a whole city? That…

“There’s no way you could do that,” when the tinker doesn’t immediately agree with me, I have my thralls close in a step towards me. “Right?”

Instead of answering me, Blasto just cranes his head until he can look through the open doorway. I follow his eyes to see a Tarantula just barely hanging in the doorway, its back legs hanging onto the frame as it waves its other six limbs forward.

“Looks like it’s time to go to work.” With a sharp click of his tongue, his minions follow him out the door at the same time a parade of ants spell out some words in front of me.

‘GET TO HIGH GROUND’

“Okay,” I tell the bugs, knowing that Taylor can hear through them better than she can see.

Without waiting a second longer, the bugs disperse into the mess around me, crawling and chittering back into the cracks around me and my thralls. A few of the ants, which apparently have wings, fly up in front of me before zipping off to the far left corner of the room, where the roof has made a ramshackle path to the upper floors.

Sighing, I decide to just listen to the Bug Master. 

The second floor doesn’t have much going on, with the vast majority of it caved in beyond repair. What it does give me is a skylight that Shatterbird carries the rest of us through. I don’t trust the rooftop to support our weight so I get Shatterbird to make a bigger platform for the three of us to watch the fight on.

And peeking over the lip of the glass, I can see that the fight’s already started. Grue’s smoke is flowing in the streets, Rachel and her dogs are running about, one of them has a raptor dying in its teeth, yep… just like Blasto said it would go.

Making sure the platform is spread smoothly, I let myself sit on the glasswork, my legs dangling off the edge. All I’ve got to do is wait for the Wards to show up, let those jerks quip a little and—

The apartment opposite me explodes.

Ubermensch catches me as the sound makes most of Shatterbird’s platform splinter into nothing. My first thrall is still floating however, the shards that make up her costume are made of sterner stuff than the random bits of glass and sand we picked up coming here. 

My Brutish puppet cushions the small fall and I brace myself for something worse as the roof starts to creak and groan. Thankfully, it doesn’t do much more than that and me and Ubermensch can slowly crawl our way to the roof’s edge.

Most of Grue’s smoke has been blown away, the wind the explosion made has picked up enough of it to dissipate. I don’t spy any of my teammates or Blasto’s creations and it’s only when someone shouts that I look at the destroyed complex.

There, standing on a small hill of rubble are seven silhouettes, their forms mostly hidden by the harsh backlight.

“People of Brockton Bay,” the voice shouts, an odd knightly tone echoing through the streets as the hooded center figure stretches his arms wide. “You have no need to fear, this farce, this charade, all of it means nothing! For we, for The Adepts, are here.”